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Stitches

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“Ow, Geralt that hurts!” Jaskier cried, involuntarily jerking away from Geralt’s touch.

“Stop squirming and it’ll hurt a lot less,” the witcher growled, clearly exasperated with the bard’s antics. “You think I want to be sitting here stitching you up? I could just leave you to do it yourself, you know.”

“No, please.”

Geralt brought the needle back to Jaskier’s thigh where he had been cut by a less than friendly patron of the tavern across the road. The man was drunk and had been speaking ill of witchers in general all night. Knowing Jaskier as well as he did, Geralt tried to keep the bard away from the man. All it took however was one moment where he let his guard down and before he knew it, Jaskier was stalking across the tavern to confront him.

Geralt hadn’t gotten to him in time to stop the man’s knife burying itself in Jaskier’s leg. He had punched the man, knocking him out cold before dragging Jaskier back to their room at the inn. And now here they were, Jaskier trying to get away from the needle that Geralt was using to stitch him up.

“You going to sit still now?”

Jaskier only nodded. Geralt gripped his knee to try and keep his leg in place while he pulled the needle through skin. The stab wound thankfully wasn’t too deep, but it would only heal badly if left. No doubt it would scar but at least this way it wouldn’t be as noticeable. Hopefully.

Jaskier continued to make various noises of discomfort but had thankfully stopped fighting against Geralt, allowing him to finish sewing his flesh back together. Once finished, he tied a knot before wrapping a bandage over the wound.

“Thank you, Geralt,” Jaskier said when he was done.

“Just try not to get stabbed again.”